


Obsession... Hunger is killing me inside

by A_N_Whitmore



Series: Obsession [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Biting, Bloodplay, Blow Jobs, Druids, Flashbacks, M/M, Nemeton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 19:30:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1097764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_N_Whitmore/pseuds/A_N_Whitmore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Stiles comes across Peter at the Nematon, it leads to a night that Stiles can't forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Obsession... Hunger is killing me inside

Stiles found himself driving down the back road with the windows rolled down, the wind bracing but clearing his thoughts as he reflected over the past few days. The smell of him was all over, and it made Stiles stomach clench low and hot, rolling down over his thighs straight to his aching cock.

 

“Fuck! Damn it Stilinski clear your head and get over it, it was fantastic but that’s it, Peter Hale just doesn’t want you!” He finds himself shouting it to the sky.

 

But he knew it was more… his right hand traced his neck and down to the join of his shoulder and he hissed with remembrance.

 

Damn werewolves and their fucking libidos, it wasn’t his fault that he smelled like someone in need of a good lay all the time. Although in his defence he’d never actually been called slutty. He was still a virgin at 17 for a reason.

 

_"You smell like Autumn, you smell like Autumn leaves and home."_

 

Stiles pulled over to the side of the road, failing to signal, causing the driver behind him to flip him off as he passed.

 

“If I wanted someone to ride my ass I would have had them pull my hair motherfucker! You’re doing 90 in a 75 zone by the way dick bag!”

 

Stiles slammed his baby into park, knowing he should treat the twenty year old Jeep Wrangler his mother drove… a little more… kindly. Especially with all the abuse he’d put the poor thing under lately. Turning the engine off he slumped over onto something soft instead of the worn and sun bleached faux leather interior and pulled Peter’s Henley out from underneath his head.

 

"Stupid" He could see the flecks of rust coloured blood dappling the white, Stiles own blood marring the perfect soft cotton near the collar. He closed his eyes trying and failing miserably to quell the moan rushing forth from his lips as he replayed the images.

 

He’s watching Peter lap at the blood from his wrist…his lips fastening hungrily over the pulse point as he pushes him against the Nemeton.

 

“Get… g..get off me…”

 

Peter’s body is flush with his on the stump of the tree, the new growth of the tree is writhing underneath him like snakes; reaching out to him and he can feel a sense of rightness. He can feel a tickling sensation on the edge of his senses as Peter worries at his pulse but stops, pulling away. Instead he watches Peter as he worries at his own wrist, as if trying to prevent himself from biting Stiles there like he had offered two years prior.

 

He pulls Stiles up to him and looks at him for a moment, his hands struggling to find a place to hold him, and for the first time Stiles can see something he’s never seen before in eyes that used to bring him nothing but cold sweats and nightmares…. Don’t reject me.

 

He knows Peter as the cold calculating, tactical advantage, manipulating bastard he usually is; but he also knows Peter as the man who shared memories of nights by his daughter’s crib, just watching her sleep. He knows Peter as the man who shifted to stalk a gaggle of geese because Talia had forgotten to get a second ham for dinner and all the markets were closed on Christmas Eve.

 

He’s hated the smell of wet fur ever since that night.

 

He puts his arms around Peter’s neck, unsure of what he’s really asking for in the middle of Beacon Hills Preserve on top of THE apparently Ancient (and when Alan said ancient he meant fucking ANCIENT with power like a capital P) NEMETON! One that is reviving itself due to a Druid sacrifice at that!

 

Damn sharp bark had to catch him when he fell, and of course Peter had to be out here like a creeper wolf watching him fail miserably when all Deaton had asked was that he would offer the tree some sage, a vial of Alan’s blood and a small stone with a Triquetra drawn on it.

 

Stiles had brought his own offering but he was afraid that it wouldn’t be very good the way things were now. It seemed rather childish in the long run. He pushes his head under Peter’s for a moment, forgetting about the awkward angle and the weird dichotomy that this presents. His legs hurt as do his hips, and so he nudges closer, finding Peter’s lap pliant and hot and fitting in all the wrong but oh so right ways.

 

Peter doesn’t push against him, doesn’t fight at all. He just sits there with thoughts running across his face, a myriad of emotions that he isn’t at all sure are positive…. But, for the first time in his life, Sviatoslav Grigoriyevich Stilinski can say beyond a shadow of a doubt that he isn’t frightened at all.

 

He can feel Peter shifting against him subtly and he wants nothing more than to reciprocate, to go with the flow. Everything in his mind is urging him to this conclusion but he knows in his heart that this is wrong.

 

“Peter…”, his voice sounds positively wrecked and he moans as Peter’s mouth moves against the back of his neck. The stubble of his beard is rubbing a fire in it’s wake. Peter growls low in his throat and moves away; pulling Stiles’ face up to his and stares into his eyes. His eyes are the deep ice blue of a Winter night on a full moon and Stiles wants to drown in them.

 

“You smell like Autumn, you smell like Autumn leaves and home,”Peter whispers as he settles his mouth hungrily against Stiles own. Stiles hasn’t had a lot of kisses in his young life, but he knows a good one when he feels it. Peter’s tongue gently moves against his own and it is he, Stiles G. Stilinski, that becomes forceful! No… demanding.

 

He pushes back against Peter, nipping at his lower lip and grinding his pelvis into his. He prays to the Gods above that Peter reciprocates soon but what happens next isn’t what he expects.

 

Peter pulls away, his eyes darkening, the blue of the iris a mere thin ring taken over by the pupil. Peter looks positively drunk and his lips are swollen, thoroughly kissed.

 

He picks Stiles up off of his lap and sets him down away from the Nemeton, joining him there in a moment after collecting a few ragged breaths. Stiles notices that his claws have descended along with a slight flash of fang.

 

“I don’t trust myself with you… not this close to the full moon Stiles.”

 

“So where do we go from here?”Stiles asks nervously. Peter looks at him, his eyes closing for a moment as he breaths out a sigh.

 

“I don’t know… I don’t know Stiles. I’ve never… I’ve never been with… I’ve never felt this way about a man ok?”

 

Stiles internally balks at the notion that Peter Freaking Hale is nearly as virginal as he is in something. Luckily Stiles is always quick on his feet, something he got from his mother.

 

“What about going for coffee this Tuesday? We’ll take it slow from there, if you don’t like it… we… we can stop.”

 

Stiles is on the edge of a panic attack as he suddenly looks down to feel the heavy weight of Peter’s hand holding his. The weight of it feels right, Peter’s long Pianist fingers slide in with his nimble guitarist ones, but his palm envelopes Stiles’ palm, dwarfing it and yet making him feel safe and protected.

 

Stiles looks back at the Nemeton a moment and suddenly remembers his meager offering to the Gods. He prays that they haven’t been crushed in the activities of the evening and pats at his left jean pocket, relieved to find the pieces still intact.

 

Mourning the momentary loss of contact, Peter watches him pull small wood pieces from his pocket with care and set them on the Nemeton along with a tied parchment paper. He joins peter once more and they begin walking back toward the jeep, with Stiles leading the way.

 

“What was on the pieces of wood?” Peter asks.

 

“Noosy Norah…” He can hear the smile in Stiles’ voice.

 

“What?” Peter has no idea what the hell a ‘Noosy Norah’is.

 

“It means nosy, my mom grew up in Pennsylvania, she’d always tell me I was being a Noosy Norah when I was asking questions to private things. But if you must know… they were protection images of you and the gang, burned into Rowan wood. I put them there to be blessed and in return for their protection I offered something else but I won’t tell you what that is.”

 

Peter frowns for a moment but soon nods in understanding, “Alright, keep your secrets.”

 

“You’re damn right I’ll keep my secrets Creeper Wolf. But, I have a question for you… What were you doing out here?”

 

“These are free woods you know, and technically it’s closed after dusk. Not that you ever obey the law or anything.”

 

Stiles gapes, his mouth obscenely open. He has had a bad habit of doing that ever since he was a kid but he can’t seem to find words to fill the empty space. He can tell Peter is affected by the way his eyes hyper focus and yet, he can’t help but wonder where the hell these feelings are coming from.

 

He questions it not only of himself, but also of Peter. Maybe… maybe there was some sort of…. nah.. he had been reading way too much fanfiction lately. Sex Pollen was definitely not real… unless… maybe it was…

 

He shakes his head, forcing himself not to fly off into deduction and research mode. He would just calmly and…quietly place that little oddity away and ask Deaton about it at a later date.

 

“I’ll have you know…. I… I’m the son of the Sheriff.”

 

Great Stilinski state the obvious why don’t you!

 

He wants to kick himself for not listening to Lydia’s advice on dating… hell even Erica.. and there he’s gone and made himself feel shitty again about Erica.

 

_Should have grabbed a regular dose of Adderall and some caffeine, maybe I should have remembered the Celexa this morning…_

 

He knows he’s been popping too many extended release capsules, his regular dosages just don’t stop the racing thoughts, and he feels like he’s under this wall of rushing water, like there’s a constant pressure building up inside and all he needs is….

 

_Shit… Peter’s looking at me… how the fuck did we get back to Roscoe so fast? Has he been talking to me? Damn it I’m gonna’ look like the worst version of a space case._

 

However Peter doesn’t mock him, Peter doesn’t do anything except open the passenger side door. Stiles wonders when the hell Peter managed to grab the keys off of his killer Iron Man belt but he doesn’t argue as he finds himself pushed into the driver’s side, Peter following and crowding in with his rather obnoxiously long legs.

 

Peter puts the keys in the ignition but doesn’t turn the switch, instead he closes the door and just watches Stiles. The intensity of his gaze is rather maddening and it pulls at his heart. God he feels like he wants to break.

 

He can hear himself shouting in the small confines of the vehicle and it terrifies him; he sounds like his father when he’s had too much to drink.

 

“JUST TOUCH ME! GOD JUST….JUST TOUCH ME ALREADY!”

 

He feels the fucking tears threaten to overwhelm him, no one… no one’s touched him… no one’s been there… he… he feels so fucking dark. He needs the pressure to just go away… Lydia had Jackson and now Aiden and Erica… well Erica … Erica’s dead, but she had Boyd and Boyd… is dead. And Scott is an Alpha now… the True Alpha and he tries not to feel so God Damn bitter… But even Scott has Allison to help him through his nightmares.

 

Everyone who’s wanted to touch him has died.

 

Peter doesn’t say a word as he pulls off his Henley and Stiles notices for the first time that Peter Hale is nervous, the energy pours off of him and Stiles feels electrified and he struggles to face the naked torso being presented to him.

 

He looks down at the balled up shirt in Peter’s hands and notices a stain at the collar. _Shit I ruined a Ralph Lauren Henley…_

 

His right wrist aches in response to its acknowledged wound, in fact his hips and knees cry out at the unfair Lacrosse hours and field beat downs and then his run in with the forest this evening. He’s fucking falling apart emotionally and physically and the only thing that feels good is the pain, but that is part of the reason he’s falling apart.

 

“Stiles….”

 

He feels Peter’s fingers wrap around his hand and pull him closer, and his Beacon Hills Lacrosse: Go Wolves! Hoodie is being removed before he has time to utter an assent or a negative. He feels somewhat foolish in his childish Power Rangers t-shirt but it’s a classic piece!

 

And he thinks aloud “Why the hell would Peter freaking Hale give two shits about my shirt?”

 

“Hmm maybe because the Japanese version you’re wearing shows you actually cared about the fact that it was originally the Super Sentai?”

 

Stiles stops… Peter Hale… knows about the Super Sentai?

 

“I did have nieces and nephews obsessed with Japanese manga and television for quite some time. The American cuts were awful though”

 

“Says you… that was God and Gold on the recess court! You had to get up pretty damn early to make sure you could be Jason or Tommy and not get stuck being Kim! Hell even being Billy was more Epic than Kim!”

 

“You try being stuck as Scrappy Doo when you’re ten and then we’ll talk” Peter pulls his Sentai t-shirt off and presses his chest against Stiles’ back.

 

“So you’re telling me your sister gave you the shitty role in Scooby Doo?”

 

“That and… I was quite a small wolf… which is why… Talia was granted heir when she was thirteen.”

 

“Oh… I thought it was eldest born in family packs.”

 

“No… I was six at the time but… normally family packs ah… well when the two oldest siblings reach maturity… they shift and… fight for the right to lead the next generation.”

 

“Wait… I’ve seen pictures of Derek’s mother… he has one in his wallet and Cora has three on her mantel. She looks a hell of a lot older than you. I mean older than seven years.”

 

“Stiles… haven’t you seen how haggard Derek looks? That’s after only two years…. imagine eight or nine go by. My parents died when she was fifteen. I was nine. I couldn’t handle my anger and she… she tried to be my mother figure… but it was fucking different. She was my Alpha.”

 

Suddenly Peter’s hands rove over his chest and stomach and he feels his pulse shoot up, his heart sounds like the ocean in his ears and he can feel Peter’s breath torturously hot against his neck and he moans as the tip of Peter’s tongue licks away at his carotid pulse, taking in his sweat and lack of shower that since morning.

 

“Why… why me?” He pants against Peter, his left hand roving up to grab at Peter’s overly coiffed hair, “Peter… you… you said you’ve never done this.”

 

“Oh… Stiles.”

 

Peter pauses in his tasting and ministrations momentarily, causing Stiles to groan in frustration.

 

“I may never have done this… I don’t know if… if I can give you what you need. I don’t know if you can handle… my brand of… fruit loops. I can honestly say that yes… I want you. I…. I crave you. I crave you ok? And I swear to God if you use that damn Twilight line about Heroine I will leave you here with a serious case of the blues and I don’t just mean your emotions.”

 

Peter continues after giving him a glaring eye full of thinly veiled threats.

 

“That night when I offered you the bite… When I let you choose instead of just taking it, that was because my soul… or my wolf or whatever you want to call it, it felt something. It felt something I’ve been searching for since I was a child. It felt kindness and empathy and kinship and love and all those good things in this world that died the day my family burned, the day my parents were killed. That is why I like you Stiles, you fit me. You fit me better than I fit myself.”

 

Stiles doesn’t know what to say as Peter’s mouth sucks over the pulse point in a bruising fashion. And suddenly This…THIS… is what he needs. It aches… oh… it aches but he wants more…

 

But he isn’t sure… how should he ask? He feels like he’s pushing too fast, first it was just a coffee date offer.. and now they’re in Roscoe the BAMF Jeep having what Stiles can only describe as a near mind blowing, nearly naked, make out session. Christ the windows have even started to fog.

 

Peter though, Peter moves to the join of his neck and shoulder and he fucking starts nibbling… not in a polite way… but in this… gloriously fucking fantastic sexy way. And suffusing Stiles whole body, besides the overwhelming need to come… is the urge to have Peter bite him.

 

“Peter… Jesus… Peter…” Peter’s hands have moved dangerously low but they are shaking… he’s shaking like a leaf.

 

He’s pulled closer, Peter’s arms are encapsulating his thin wiry frame and he hears the click of his belt being undone.

 

All he can think in this moment is: The arc reactor is offline and Tony Stark is totally going to have a coronary.

 

“Tell me you…Tell me you want this.” His breathing is harsh and rough as though he is holding back the forces of nature. His eyes are a darker blue than Stiles has ever seen and he is still waiting even though the wolf is keening, a sort of undertone on the exhale of Peter’s breathing.

 

Peter Hale… Peter Fucking Hale is considerate to the last.

 

“Touch me.”

 

He feels the button of his jeans pop open and his fly pulled low before hands, far hotter than his own, dip tentatively inside and seek out his cock. He arches into the contact as soon as fingers brush delicately against his sweat laden flesh. Willing himself not to cry out, he pulls Peter by his hair to meet his lips.

 

The kiss is sin… absolute sin brought by the Devil. Stiles will never in his life have another kiss like it. He is entranced by it, by the utter surrender Peter gives. Peter keeps touching him lightly and he has to have more… so much more than just little touches.

 

“Peter… harder touch me like you touch yourself.”

 

It’s honestly the… foulest thing he has ever let escape out of his dark closeted secrets. Why so foul? Foul because he’s found himself waking up at random nights with the memories of Peter sleeping with his wife… He awoke achingly hard and feeling sick.

 

The memories of how _Good_ Nicole had felt beneath him, the urge to have just a little bit more pain with his pleasure… how she had been willing to try… but it was never enough. He Stiles Stilinski remembered how hard Peter needed to touch himself, just the right amount to get over the edge….

 

Now here he was asking for it…. just like Peter needed it.

 

“Wait…” Stiles pushes away his nerves and decides to do this before he becomes a chicken shit and just be on the receiving end.

 

He scrunches down into the narrow space and turns over on his belly, his cock now rubbing against the cool pleather and he ignores the look of slight dejection in Peter’s body language.

 

He opens the buttons to Peter’s trousers and finds nothing else deterring him from his intended goal. He however will not look up at Peter as he takes the tip of Peter’s member between his lips. He minds his teeth, tucking his lips around them and gives an experimental lick and a slight pull.

 

It’s Peter’s turn to put his hand in Stile’s hair.

 

Stiles soon learns what makes Werewolves different from others, it isn’t that they necessarily are hard to handle, but male wolves and their sensory data apparently became like Stiles brain after 80 mg on an XR Adderall day. Everything became important, it was like Peter had taken an Amyl Nitrate Popper. He could feel every…little…thing.

 

Stiles wasn’t by any means professional after reading book after book on the subject of the male anatomy and circumcision, but Peter Hale’s family had not gone with tradition and adopted him into prescribed practice.

 

He was something that was exceptional, Peter surrendered everything…. he seemed like he was calm and collected but he was in trouble from the minute everything began.

 

Stiles pushes and urges Peter, despite being virgin as hell he needed this. He needs the control, the right to call the shots. Even if it looks as though Peter has the floor, they both know the truth. He can see Peter’s hands curled into tight white fists against his thighs and that curled grip just increases as Stiles moves his mouth to take Peter in as deep as he can.

 

He hates the sound of choking, coughing at all isn’t something he’s ever wanted to do when it came to oral sex, but he knows he’s going to cough. He’s going to, so he might as well be prepared for it. His hands slide up Peter’s thigh and uncurl his right fist as he pulls away for a moment on the upward stroke.

 

Peter’s eyes once closed tightly, open as he sees Stiles place his hand on the back of his neck. He notices how the young man’s throat moves nervously and for a moment his predatory instinct threatens to take over.

 

Stiles seems to feel these things, like… like a razor digging into his stomach. Through Peter’s hand he can feel Peter’s emotions, his fear, his lust and his anger at himself. He can feel the rolling, stalking need of the wolf within and he smells the smoke of wood-fire deep in Peter’s skin as if it had been singed into his soul.

 

Stiles doesn’t utter a single word, he only opens his mouth to receive Peter again, moaning unintentionally as Peter’s hand tightens painfully over the bite mark from earlier. The moan catches Peter off guard, once being the modicum of control, Peter hears Stiles and gives up all pretense.

 

The senses are fickle things, and like Gods, they must be appeased.

 

Peter’s hips rise off of the poor excuse of a seat and his cock finds the back of Stiles throat. Never before has he entertained these thoughts, he lies to himself. He won’t recall those nights as a seventeen year old, he refuses to remember those nights. He’s never touched a man before Stiles despite what Talia thought.

 

“Stiles" he moans. All those years of lying… all those years.

 

Stiles chokes softly and Peter sees a tear threatening to escape down the young man’s cheek. Yet, he doesn’t cease his ministrations, instead he inhales through his nose and swallows Peter nearly to the root. The feeling of Stiles’ throat around him is nearly his undoing, but it isn’t quite enough. He needs to feel.

 

His claws lengthen on his left hand and he pulls it to his chest, aching to have the release he needs. But he feels Stiles stop once more and pull his hand away. Stiles’ free hand motions to the glove compartment as he gets off of his sore knees.

 

“Under the registration papers…” His voice sounds utterly broken as he reveals more of his soul.

 

Peter opens the glove compartment and finds a plain black leather box. It opens to reveal a diabetic diagnostic metre and a number of lancets with a vial of testing strips, but Peter feels something else inside one of the pockets.

 

“Yes, I’m a diabetic ok?”

 

Peter opens the pocket and finds a small razor wrapped in sanitary paper.

 

This… wasn’t for diabetes, but he wasn’t judging.

 

“Where?” He asks it softly as Stiles’ hand moves against him, the deft fingers tracing the moisture of both precome and saliva over his cock.

 

“Stiles… show me.”

 

Stiles’ warm hand leaves Peter bereft as he proceeds to take his jeans down over his erection, his Calvin Klein boxers catching on the tip of his cock. Stiles hisses at the contact but looks straight at Peter when he says the next statement.”

 

“I am not a cutter, this… this isn’t a cry for help, so let’s get that clear right fucking now.”

 

Peter’s eyes shift to normal for a moment as he pulls Stiles over to him.

 

“I know,” he says kissing Stiles deeply and tasting himself.

 

When Stiles pulls away, he can see that his understanding hasn’t helped sway the young man at all. Stiles pulls a napkin from the drink rest and wipes his hand before pulling the razor out of Peter’s fingers and unwrapping it from it’s sheath.

 

His hand moves to touch himself but Peter stops him and instead brushes over Stiles’ cock with his palm. Stiles arches into him, gasping.

 

The gorgeous boy….. Peter can’t help it… he needs….

 

Peter forces himself to watch, to not react on instinct. The urge is so strong that it hits him like the moon after he woke from the dead.

 

He wants Stiles…. he wants him more than he’s wanted anything else in his life. Nicole… the poor woman, had this been what she felt?

 

She’d described it only once to him after their first time, she’d begged him never to bring it up again. His innocent wife… maiden sprung when he’d taken her.

 

_"It’s like I’m hungry for you…. like there is this pit of aching hunger that needs you to find it and fill it. It overwhelms me Peter… I need you, every time you’re near me I need you. It’s this sick twisted fascination… no… this Obsession"_

 

Peter’s hand shifts faster, watching Stiles take the razor in hand and draw a bead of ruby red blood on his thigh.

 

He just digs the edge of it in, shuddering in pent up need and lust.

 

“Harder Peter.”

 

Peter grips him tighter and watches him draw another bead, this time a slight red line that won’t scar.

 

“Do you do this all the time?” Peter wonders where else he might find evidence of Stiles’ craving.

 

“Jesus…”

 

Stiles is too far gone to answer as he puts another line on his thigh, this time a bit higher towards his groin.

 

Peter leans down pushing Stiles hand out of the way as he licks up the boy’s blood and puts his mouth over his cock. Apparently this is too much for Stiles to bear as he tries to push Peter away, but he just grips Stiles at the left hip and makes him settle as he tightens his mouth.

 

Stiles rocks his head back and forth crying, the tears free flowing now down his cheeks. Yet, no sound is heard besides muffled watery gasps as he suddenly throws his head back and comes into Peter’s mouth.

 

Peter reacts, drawing out Stiles’ orgasm, making him shudder again and again as he comes down off of the precipice.

 

Stiles tastes like fruit and fried foods, a bit sour and yet sweet. The presence of over-processed sugar is blatantly obvious but he doesn’t spit Stiles’ essence away; no, he swallows it as he pulls back shaking.

 

Stiles looks at him, his stomach heaving with exertion and he climbs onto his lap, all limbs in the small spaces, but Stiles for all his appearance says… is actually graceful.

 

“Do you…” he pants, his pupils blown with the recency of his orgasm, “Do you want to?”

 

Peter just pulls him close and kisses him.

 

“I… I can’t….”

 

He watches Stiles crumble, he locks his emotions away and pulls back from the edge of the boy’s mind.

 

Whether it was that they had been connected before or by Stiles’ ability as a Spark, Peter didn’t know.

 

Stiles shuffles awkwardly away from Peter and struggles to find his clothes on the floor of the Jeep.

 

This… this… he thought, this is…

 

“Hell,” he finishes as he buckles his Iron Man belt

 

He looks up to find Peter wearing his shirt, the Super Sentai logo stretched tight across his chest.

 

“Hell” Peter agrees as he climbs out of the vehicle.

 

Before Stiles can say another word Peter is at his window, making him roll it down in the chilly October air.

 

He doesn’t say another word, but kisses him softly and takes off into the night as fast as his legs could carry him.

 

Stiles pulled out of his reverie and started Roscoe once more , he needed to clear his mind, maybe get out of Dodge for a while. Deaton had been offering to connect him to his power more efficiently, to grow it in a controlled and focused manner. In other words…. a retreat with no games or phones or Adderall, surrounded by nature and a boatload of old Druids.

 

Maybe young Druids… either way… it wasn’t a typical vacation.

 

Stiles pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed Deaton’s clinic, hearing him pick up on the third ring.

 

“Hey about that Order retreat…… I’ll do it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy!


End file.
